Rose for a Conman
by LostWithWords
Summary: Peter's new case leads him and Neal to one of the most influential families in the world of art. But, will Neal find more than a pretty painting? Neal X OC. Please review.
1. Chapter 1

Peter Burke's eyebrows were crinkled; a sign Neal Caffrey took as bad. Burke was no-nonsense, but only the toughest of cases changed his facial structure beyond the usual look of exasperation. "New case, Peter?" The younger man asked.

"Yea, and a real pain it's gonna be..." He slapped the blue file in his hand onto the table. Neal picked it up, and stopped after glancing at the name on the first page attached.

"Exactly." Peter noticed the surprise on the ex-con's face. "We're dealing with the crème de la crème, this time. Not our usual high flying white collars. I take it you're familiar with the Rossetti family?"

Neal smirked. "Giants in the realm of art, also literature. One of the remnants of Italian aristocracy that still has the wealth to strengthen its name…and reputation." Many members of the Rossetti line were accused of high-profile thefts, including Adolfo Rossetti, who was accused of having Vincenzo Peruggia steal the Mona Lisa in 1911, though nothing was ever proved and Peruggia stated he knew nothing of the Rossetti line. Neal's lips curled into an excited smile. "The family home in Palermo is said of be a museum, surpassed only by the likes of the Louvre, Sistine Chapel and the gallery in Uffizi. But, why is the FBI investigating Italian royalty?"

"Esmerelda Gabrielle Rosseti, eldest daughter and heiress to the family cash pot, flew into New York two days ago to acquire another painting to add to the Rossetti collection. However, last night, the painting was stolen from her suite in the Hilton." Peter shook his head, "You can imagine how it will affect international relations if the piece isn't retrieved soon. I'll be hearing from Hughes on this..." Peter sighed, "don't you art thieves ever take a break?"

"Not if a Rossetti is buying a painting. So, what's the name of this piece of art that attracted a family member, that too the heiress and not a personal shopper?" Neal was aware of the collectors these families employed to obtain artwork, and it was only in the rarest cases that one of the family traveled personally to make an acquisition.

"No idea." Burke was already in his coat. "But, we'll know soon enough….So, get up. We're going to investigate the scene of the crime."

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"Please enter." Peter opened the door to the presidential suite, and was assaulted by a scent of lily. He stepped in and saw that the main living area was almost heaped with lilies. Placed in exquisite vases, they adorned the tables (a great in number), the mantle and even some placed on the cream colored carpet. "Someone likes flowers..." he muttered, before turning his attention to the person coming out of the adjacent room.

"The Federal Bureau of Investigation, I presume?" The woman's words were laced with an Italian accent, as were her features typically Italian and extremely beautiful.

"Peter Burke, FBI." Burke held out his hand, which the woman took gracefully. "And this," he gestured to Neal "is Neal Caffrey. He's a consultant."

Neal smiled and took her hand as well. The woman returned the smile, Caffrey's charm already taking effect. "A pleasure, Mr. Caffrey. I am Concetta Agnoli, accountant to Lady Rossetti. She will be with us in a moment..."

As she spoke, the door to the room from which the accountant had emerged, opened yet again. A woman, whom Peter assumed to be the heiress, appeared and for a moment, Peter and Neal felt as if they were seeing someone from another world.

The woman was medium height, about five feet or maybe a bit more. Her face was framed with tresses of ebony colored hair that cascaded past slim shoulders. She wore a gown of what seemed like Muga silk, lightly golden in color that accentuated the fairness of her honey colored skin. She wore no jewellery, except a bracelet of pearls around her right wrist. However, inspite of the beauty of her attire, it was her face that was most striking. It was, for the lack of another word, lovely. She resembled none of the exquisite models of Neal's escapades, nor any of the corporate beauties Peter encountered among his wife's office friends and colleagues. Her face was soft, fairer than her arms which were uncovered by the gown, and held a shade of mystery, as if she was someone out of a painting, a scenery of stormy skies and rustling leaves.

"Please, gentlemen, have a seat." She gestured towards the rose colored sofa in the middle of the living area. Her accent was much less pronounced, though still noticeable. The men made their way to the sofa while she sat on a small armchair, facing them. Peter cleared his throat and began, but not before noticing the deep admiration in Neal's eyes.

"Miss Rossetti, I presume..." Peter was answered by a nod. "I'm Agent Burke and this is Neal Caffrey, consultant." The woman nodded once again at Neal, a gentle smile gracing her features. "So, Can you tell me what happened, from the beginning?"

"I returned to the suite with the painting at about nine last night, had it placed in the safe in the bedroom, and then left again for a while. I returned about eleven thirty, and when I reopened the safe to look at it, my precious painting was no longer there. I searched the rooms as much as I could before reporting the theft; I was worried I had misplaced it, but unfortunately, it was not the case." Her voice remained steady, though Neal could catch a current of distress beneath. His eyes traveled towards her wrist, and he caught sight of a small gold clasp on the bracelet, shaped as a rose. It was elegant, truly ladylike and fitting on her self.

"Do you love the rose?" He snapped out of the reverie, and looked up to see her soft, brown eyes resting upon his face. "It is the most regal of flowers, the representation of sheer beauty, and no one ever notices the thorns; no one sees the power behind the fragile eyes."

Neal felt a soft skip within his chest. "Its deception, isn't it?" He thought of Kate, the woman he loved, and the woman he didn't know if he could trust anymore. Death had taken her, and he had been ever so alone, but still, he could not be sure of her anymore.

"It is disguise; everyone wears a mask, Signore Caffrey." She caressed the bracelet with a butterfly touch of her forefinger. "Masks are what hold us from coming apart in this world."

"So, what is the name of this painting that was stolen?" Burke reverted the conversation back to its original intent, sensing Neal's thoughts drift to his recent past.

"It is…" she was quiet for a moment. "Its is not something much valued, but is it important to me, and the family." The woman looked towards her bracelet and said, in a lower voice, "It is a portrait of a rose, if you will excuse the term, for the rose seems as alive as any person; it is named Amore di inganno, roughly translating to Love of Decption. We believe that this is a work of Guilio Romano, the famous disciple of Raphael, though one did not believe until yesterday when its authenticity was confirmed. It is a beautiful piece of art, and most precious to me. It was meant to be displayed in the Uffizi gallery for a month before finding its rest in my home."

"And where did you acquire it from?" Neal asked, choosing to look at the arrangement of lilies on the table.

"One of our employees, kept for this very purpose informed us that a dealer name Leonardo Mitchell had the painting and was willing to make a sale. Since I have deep interest in it, I came personally to ensure that it is the real item, you see, many believe that Amore di inganno is just by some street person who chose to copy Master Raphael's technique. However, analysis using infrared reflectography, Wood's light, stereoscopic microscope and IR spectroscopy has been conducted. It is indeed Raphael."

"And who do you think might have taken it? Anyone you suspect?" Peter again.

"It is not usual for one of us to come personally to make a purchase. It may have been any number of collectors or dealers or even art enthusiasts. I am sorry; I cannot give you a specific name. It was my mistake, of course, to keep the painting in such an unsafe manner. I should have left right after the acquisition." She lowered her eyes, and both the men could genuinely feel the regret coming from this 26 year old creature that resembled a shining bronze statue.

"I assure you, Miss Rossetti, the FBI will do its utmost best to return the item to your possession. However, we need to ask you to stay in New York until we complete at least our preliminary investigation." Peter rose, it was time to leave.

"Of course. As you wish it to be, Detective Burke." She rose too, her movement as fluid as a nymph of myth. "I thank you once again, gentlemen."

Peter nodded and shook her hand again. "We'll be in touch, Miss." Neal simply nodded, to which she smiled. "Goodbye, Signore Caffrey."

Concetta, who had disappeared earlier, appeared once again, seemingly out of nowhere, to show the men out. As Peter opened the door, Neal turned to the Rossetti who now sat at the same place as he on the sofa. "Miss Rossetti, you say you like rose. So, why is the place filled with lilies?"

"Even the lesser need to be loved, Signore. There is no dearth of lovers of the rose. The ugly stepsisters of Cinderella had pearls and silk, but they found no happiness, for they were not loved for what they were."

Neal felt that skip in his chest again as his heart seemed to be approaching his throat. "I see…you're still lovelier than the lilies, Esmerelda." He suddenly bent slightly at his waist, bowing moderately, and left.

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So, I hope this is alright. I got some words translated on the internet. Like the name for the painting. Oh, and the entire story in fiction. I tried to put in some facts, like the name of the man who stole the Mona Lisa, Vincenzo. But the Rossetti family is completely fictional. I do not own White Collar or any White Collar characters. I'm just a huge fan. Please review and let me know what you thought of my attempt. Thank you ^.^


	2. Chapter 2

OOC: lizzietish13, thank you so much. Your first review really motivated me. Thank you so so much. Thank you for the other reviews too.

"So, what did you think?" Peter swerved into his garage, and as usual slammed his foot on the brake, causing both him and Neal to jerk forward.

"Could you drive any better?" Caffrey was busy extracting himself from the car, his coat folded on his arm. "You'll kill us one day, Peter."

"Four years of prison didn't kill you, and I will?" Burke was already inside, being greeted by Elizabeth, his wife. "Hey, honey…"

"How was the day, baby? Glad you made it in time for dinner." She twirled her fingers in greeting. "Hi, Neal…"

"Elizabeth." Neal smiled, not his usual charming smirk, but a frank, open hearted smile he reserved for those closest. "Something good today?"

"Freshen up and get to the table, you'll find out..." Elizabeth disappeared into the kitchen.

"Hey Neal, you didn't answer my question..." Peter called as Neal started upstairs towards the bathroom. "What did you think?"

Neal looked to his friend, whose face reflected his obvious expectation of an answer along the lines of 'Lovely lady, maybe I'll get her number'. he sighed and answered. "Predictable, Peter. She's everything a princess should be."

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Dinner was excellent with Elizabeth presenting a selection of fish, pates, foie gras, filet mignon, carmelized pears and cheery tart. Of course, Peter shoveled through it all with only "Tastes great, honey", receiving exasperated sighs from both his dinner companions. Neal and Elizabeth discussed the food, and her upcoming events, he offering her tips regarding food, beverage and almost everything else. It was almost ten before the dishes were cleared, and by eleven, the three were sprawled on the living room carpet [Elizabeth was on the couch, though] going over the details of the case.

"So, any number of crooks could have nabbed the painting?" Peter sighed, his mind going over the number of suspects in 14th Avenue [imaginary] alone. "How are we ever going to even start, Neal?"

Peter expected a prompt answer, as always, for Neal brain was usually crowded with a dozen theories and cockamaniac ideas .However, he received none, and looked sideways to see the blue eyed man leaning against the foot of the couch, one arm propped up on his raised knee and staring silently at the carpet. "Neal?" He reached over to give a light shove.

"What?" Caffrey snapped out, dropping his arm.

"What's the matter with you? You've been spacing out all day...How about doing some thinking regarding this?" Peter patted the case file in his hand.

"Sorry…I was just… it's nothing." He sat up straighter. "I'm thinking we should start with the high end art dealers who might be trying to sell the painting, or maybe private collectors; you know, just questioning."

"Okay...draw up a list..." Burke placed a sheet of paper in Neal's hand. "We'll get on it first thing tomorrow." He stood up. "Oh, and Neal…go home, will you? It's late." 

"I'll see you out, Neal. Go to bed, honey." Elizabeth picked up an armful of files, and walked with Neal to the front door. "Everything alright, Neal?" she asked. Struggling to balance the files. "You've been quiet."

"Elizabeth, you think everyone wears a mask?" Caffrey looked directly into her eyes, and she was able to see the strange longing in his eyes, perhaps for the answer.

"Of course they do. We're not meant to show our true natures to all, Neal But..." She sighed. "when there come along a certain someone, we're meant to remove it and be ourselves with the one." Elizabeth knew Neal was still bruised from the incident with Kate, she knew he doubted Kate's love, but couldn't bring himself to deny it completely. After all, one could still the loneliness in his eyes, remnants of a love he didn't know what to do with.

"Thanks, Elizabeth." He smiled, this time, the smile didn't touch his azure eyes. "Good night."

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Central Park was almost deserted at midnight; the drug dealers, hookers and derelicts would come out later in the night. Neal Caffrey strolled along the line of tress that marked the park's boundary, and felt the cold breeze rush against his heated cheeks. It was already autumn, and the trees were shedding. He liked the crunch of dry leaves under his feet, Kate had loved it too; Neal stopped. Once again, he felt an iron claw clutch his heart. "Damn it…" Would it never go? This pain, this feeling of indecision, this feeling of not knowing? He couldn't forget Kate, no matter how hard he tried, but he couldn't love her madly either. After everything Peter had told him about her, he couldn't trust her. "Just make up your mind." He muttered to himself, rubbing his bare hand over the left side of his chest. The pain sometimes became so great it was almost physical. "I just want to know Kate…did you love me?" If only he knew, he would spend eternity mourning her.

Neal breathed deeply, loving the tang of woody scents. He started walking again, hands buried deep in pockets. "Carmelized Pears..." Elizabeth truly had outdone herself. She had asked him about shops that sold mint flavored candies, and he had promised her that he'd buy her a sample. Neal picked up his pace. "Might as well do it new." June was away and left him a key, so he'd be able to let himself in.

The shop Neal was headed for was located towards the end of the park, on the other side with the traffic intersection. It was small, but well stocked. Neal rummaged for his wallet and was about to cross when he saw someone emerge. A figure dressed in black came out, holding something and crossed the road towards the park. The road being a bit wide, Neal wasn't able to realize why the figure looked familiar until it was about two feet away. "Miss Rossetti?"

He looked incredulously at the woman in front of him, the heiress to a vast fortune of wealth and heritage. She was dressed in black, black jeans and a slim cardigan that looked, obviously expensive. Her clouds of hair had been bound into a ponytail, and she wore not even a breath of makeup [ though she didn't either when they first met]. Neal even noticed her shoes, Nike sneakers and she carried a brown paper bag. This woman in front of him was an absolute far cry from the creature of breeding he had encountered in the afternoon.

For a moment, Esmerelda seemed not to be able to recognize him; she stood still, looking straight at him with an almost hostile glare. Then her vision softened, and she strode forward and he could see her skin almost glimmer as the streetlight fell upon her.

"Signore Caffrey, such a pleasant surprise." She held out her hand, and he took it. "You are fond of late night strolls?" She seemed as natural as ever, as if she was greeting him in her own parlor.

"Signorina Rossetti," Neal remembered that he could speak bits of Italian. "I am as surprised to see you out so late, and you look…different." He fumbled and failed for another word. "It's a bit dangerous, isn't it? This escapade?"

"I don't think anyone would recognize me, Signore. Most do not expect one of the family to be dressed such." She gestured to her outfit. "Moreover, this is hardly an escapade. I am no stranger to walks alone..."

"But still, my lady the streets or New York, or any city for that matter are not safe for a lovely woman such as yourself." Neal felt his usual ease returning; perhaps it was her regal image that had silences him in the afternoon.

"I am flattered, Signore. But I am capable of taking care of myself. I have training. And it is dreary to be locked in the suite. This is my first time in America, and I wished to experience it...on my own terms."

"You're walking the streets of New York alone at night on your first trip to America?" The surprise was clear in his voice. "You could get lost, my lady."

"I have navigational software installed on my cell phone that will direct me back to the hotel. If I am truly lost, I will be found soon enough. I am resourceful." She nodded. "I have found my way before."

Neal shook his head. This woman was strange in the strangest of ways. She didn't seem to be afraid or conceited; she was simply walking. And she was right, the way she was dressed, no one would guess her to be a Rossetti, even if they did see her face, they'd probably dismiss her as someone have resembling the heiress.

"So, are you shopping out late?" he asked, motioning to the paper bag she held. "Something special for you to buy?"

Esmerelda was silent, Neal thought that even under the dim street light he could catch a faint pink coloring her cheeks. "It is a bit embarrassing that you have encountered me like this..." she held out the bag and Neal looked in. "Chocolates, my weakness. I wanted to get some myself, it is said this shop is well known for the quality of its confectionaries."

It was all he could do not to laugh out loud. Chocolates. The lady from a painting who had so thoroughly flabbergasted Peter and him was a sucker for chocolates and strolled at night to experience America. "It's true, "he said after managing to stifle his laughter. "the very best."

She smiled again, and this time, under the light of street lamps and fireflies, Neal noticed that though she had flawless skin and glowing hair, her face was not as shining. Infact, he thought he could see a few lined along her forehead, lines that marked many frowns of worry, or perhaps ordeals. 'Ordeals..." he pondered. 'what ordeals would someone like she have?' Out loud he said,  
"You're indeed brave, but I hope you will let me be a gentleman by allowing me to take you back to the hotel." He didn't care how trained she was. The park and its surroundings was no place for a female like her, especially after sundown.

"Very well, Signore. But, would you walk? It is a pleasant night." She didn't offer resistance, as he had expected, no speeches about how she could take care of herself and how she didn't need a man to protect her. Then again, why had he thought she would say those things?

"Of course. Shall we?" He motioned her to walk before him, and then moved forward to come to her side.

The walk from the park to the Hilton hotel was about twenty five minutes through the straight road, but the pair walked along the trees that Neal had passed earlier. They talked, much easier now, unfettered by the formal manners that bound their earlier meeting. It was much easier seeing her without the accompaniment of silk and pearls, wasn't that what she had said about Cinderella's stepsisters? Esmerelda was knowledgeable about art, as was expected from someone of her background and upbringing, and they talked endlessly about it from the baroque school to Van Gogh to Madonna of the Rocks. He found that she shared his interest of wine and that her favored bottle was a 1994 _Chateau Lafleur_.

"So, you are one that replicates great works of art?" Neal was startled by the suddenness of the question. Of course, his reputation preceeded him, but even to her?

"I used to, now I'm a consultant, helping the FBI bring justice to the world with my knowledge of thievery and scams." It sounded strangely sarcastic, even to himself.

"And what is her name?" Neal stopped; he didn't understand her question. This woman bombarded queries upon him with any prelude at all. "I beg you pardon..?"

"I asked what he name is , Signore Caffrey. This woman who so plagues your heart." Esmerelda stopped and looked towards the sky, lit by a slit of moon and faint stars. "My rose brought her to your mind in the afternoon, and you are unsure of her love, is it not?" She looked back at him. "Does she bear a name?"

Neal looked at her, stunned. Could she read minds? How could she know so well what raged through him? "Kate." He replied. "He name is…_was_ Kate."

"I see…she is a bride of Death." Esmerelda started walking again. "But, Signore Caffrey, one cannot mourn with a heart of doubt."

"I know..." he had found his voice. "It hurts to think that she might not have cared… that it was all a lie for her." He remembered those morning when he would wake up with her in his arms, those afternoons when they would cuddle close, lazing over hot chocolate and a movie, those endless nights when he felt her bring him to pleasure he had never dreamed possible. Had it all been a lie? Neal felt the sting of tears once again. "But, I just want to know, I just want to know what she felt…even if it meant nothing to her, I could take the pain, but this…this agony of not knowing." He was too overwhelmed to say anymore.

"There are times when you may cry rivers that could flood a lifetime, and yet the next morning tears will cloud your eyes." Her voice seemed to falter, as if on the verge of breaking. "There are some tears that refuse to be shed, and remain here…" she raised her hand to the left side of her chest, "as if clotted blood."

Neal didn't know what to say. He realized he had just poured out his deepest sorrow to a woman he knew almost nothing of, but he also knew that she was first one who hadn't told her to move on. She realized, she knew how excruciatingly painful were the memories that clawed at him like phantoms day and night, the refused to let him rest. "Do not try to stop crying, Signore Caffrey." She said. "The pain will leave only if it is meant to."

He smiled, inspite of the streaks of salt water that stained his cheeks; he remembered what he had told Peter earlier. "You're nothing like I expected, Miss Rossetti."

She stopped, and turned to face him, a smile, a true beautiful smile, not the artificial adornment she wore until now, lit her face. "Please, call me Esmerelda...or Aisha; It is a name I keep for a friend."

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I know this is going slow, but please be patient. I want Neal to really know her before anything happens between them. I mean, he's completely broken up over Kate, and it would be weird if he just fell for Esmerelda/Aisha instantly, right? I really want to potray his feelings more than anything, so please be patient. And please review and tell me how to develop my work. Thank you so much!


	3. Chapter 3

OOC: Sorry for the delay. College exams and all. But will be more regular now, Thank you so much for the reviews. And nicedisguise, I hope you don't mind if I employ that idea of yours.

_And I slowly go insane…_

"No leads? No leads after questioning of fifty-five suspects? "Neal Caffrey's face was flushed, marked with frustration and exasperation. "What is this Peter, a joke? Just how inefficient did we become?" He slammed a file onto Pete's table, causing some loose papers to fly off the glass due to the impact.

"Neal! What is wrong with you?" Burke stood with his back leaned to the bulletproof glass wall that overlooked the city. He stared at the man opposite him, usually impeccably dressed, now with many a stray hair admonishing his slightly unshaven face. Neal Caffrey had never been distraught for as long as Peter had known him, except that one time...when the plane had fallen prey to the flames. He had struggled furiously to break free of Peter's grip, to try and save the woman who had meant, to him, the very reason of existence. But, his façade had soon gained the suave polish that shielded him, and now, Peter could see the same shield on the verge of cracking. "Since when do you let a case get personal?" He crossed his arms before his chest, glaring into the other's eyes.

He was quiet, faltering. "I…I just want to get the painting back where it belongs. That's all." The conman lowered his voice, as well as his eyes. "I just want to do my job, and solve the case."

"Then you'll do well to keep a cool head. I shouldn't have to tell you that getting pissed won't get you anywhere." Burke walked over to the door to his office and opened it. "Now, I suggest you go out and get some air. Calm your brain and come back when you think you can actually work." It was no suggestion, but a statement. Looking at Peter's gaze, Neal didn't bother to argue, no use. He made his way out in silence.

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A soft breeze teased her scented locks as she ran a turquoise comb, touched with camphor, through them. After a few strokes, she placed the comb back inside the small white handbag that lay on the bench, beside her. The sky was a feathery blue, kissed by cotton-y clouds that reminded her of that lovely, lovely dress. It had been so white, and so fragile, and yet had clung to her like a lover that is about to part. Esmerelda closed her eyes and tipped it backwards, letting the breeze touch her thin, white neck.

"Are you always at a strange place at a strange time?"

She opened her eyes to find him standing over her, his blue eyes almost instantly bringing to her mind the ocean that roared by the family's summer house. His face was in shadow, the sunlight cast in beams around his head, almost like the first time she saw the man for whom she made that white, lovely dress.

"Signore Caffrey…" She rose, and like usual held, out her hand. "Is this not the time to be wrong-doers to justice?" There was none of the sarcasm that he had incorporated into the question the previous night, she meant it.

"Taking a break…even men of law need respite….and you need to start calling me Neal." He lowered himself onto the bench, and she followed. "What about you, another bit of experiencing America?"

"Come now, you cannot tease me forever….Neal. I am just, -how do you say it? - getting some air. The hotel room, it was constricted. "Neal saw her shoulders rise slightly and fall. "I'm glad to have come across you; I needed to ask…has any progress been made into the recovery of my painting?"

There was a pause. "No." He replied. "Look, I can give you a lot of fancy jabber, but I think you're smart enough to figure it out sooner or later, so I'm not going to lie. We're getting nowhere. The thief left no clues, and I doubt he's planning to sell it anytime soon or anywhere in the vicinity of New York. It's…pretty much a dead end."

He felt a strange weight within his lungs. A knot threatened to lock his throat as he looked at her. Face lowered, framed by black, her hands were clasped together in her lap, partially clenched. "Aisha..." He reached out to take the tangle of her fingers into his palm. "I promise you, I'll get it back. I'll bring the painting back to you. I don't know why it's so important, but if it is, I'll get it back..." He didn't know why he said these words, didn't know why he promised something when he had lost hope in promises. All he knew was that it hurt to lose something so important, and he could see that to this girl, the painting was as essential as Kate was to him.

Her hands unclenched, and she extracted her fingers from his grip, only to take his hand in both of hers. "Thank you..." It was a soft, almost inaudible whisper. "It's been long since I've been promised something; you make me believe again." She looked at him, and he saw in them what he saw every morning in the mirror.

"I'm glad I do..." Neal let his hand rest in hers, it was comforting. "But…if you believe in me, you'll let me make you smile again."

She looked at him, question written on her face.

"You need to experience America for real, and you need to do so with a true American." He stood up, and took his hand from hers. "No cars, no bowing, no my ladies, only fun…as friends. Does that sound good, Aisha?"

She rose up, and when she looked at him, he saw the smile he had glimpsed last night.

For them, that afternoon was lost in a whirlwind of happiness. Neal was her guide, and he began by showing her Madame Tussaud. He took her for the New York skyride, on which she had been absolutely besieged with delight. "Better than any of those planes, no doubt" she had said. They had rode cable cars, and he had shown her secret little stores that sold old, rare books and beautiful combs, both of which had fascinated her to no end. For lunch, they had clam chowder and vegetables stew (he learnt she ate no meat, she learnt he ate no fish), and had eaten by the fountain in Washington Square Park. He had seen her cast aside demeanor and eticate, and when they had come across a band playing "Sweet Caroline" she had sung along, coaxing him to do the same until he had. They had ended up having drinks the band, and one of the girls asked her how she kept her hair "so dope", to which she had replied with "conditioner, lots and lots of conditioner". Before the evening was over, her coat hung on the crook of his arm and she carried her heeled shows in her hand, walking on the pavement lazily, talking as if the words had no end. He told her about his life as a forger, about Peter, and about his current relationship with the F.B.I, while she spoke of her family. About her father, who taught her how to wield a brush and a pen, about her mother whom she loved the most, and who had passed away with the birth of her brother. He told her about Mozzie, and they laughed over his antics until tears assailed their eyes. Neal promised to introduce them someday; on the condition the she wore nothing expensive when they met. She told him of her brother who had eloped with a second cousin, and whom she had welcomed back into the family with welcome arms. "He loved her…" She said simply. "I couldn't see any wrong in that." By the time they reached the Hilton, the moon had risen high in the star-spangled firmament.

"I guess this is where we part." Neal and Esmerelda stood at the gate, facing each other.

"I suppose so…I...I had a wonderful time, Neal." She said. "I don't remember laughing this much…ever."

He shrugged. "You should try it more; you look pretty cute when you laugh."

She smiled instantly. "Then I should be with you more..."

He smiled back. "I agree..."

At this point, a gust of wind burst against them. It caught her hair and scattered it, and in that moment, when she looked away from him, he could see her cloudy eyes shimmer and sparkle as they hadn't before, catching the moonlight and transforming it into radiance. "You're unbelievably beautiful, Aisha." The words left him before he could stop them, before he could think.

She looked back at him, naked surprise written large. "I…I didn't mean..." He began to apologize when she placed two fingers on his lips.

"When you say that Neal it means something." Esmerelda Gabrielle Rossetti leaned forward, placing her hands on his shoulders and brushed her dewy lips against his right cheek.

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"Neal Caffrey!" Elizabeth Burke almost swooped upon him the moment he walked through her door. "You do know you have a lot of explaining to do, both to my husband and to ME."

Her outburst didn't change the expression on his face. "I'm sorry Elizabeth, I got…detoured. By the way, did you get the chocolates I sent, as the sample?"

"Yes, and they were immaculate. But don't change the subject Neal." She glared at him as he made his way to the dining table, where Peter was sitting with a stormy face, and a glare that could put cruel headmasters to shame. "Where were you all day? Your phone was switched off, and you didn't call once."

"C'mon Elizabeth…" He turned to Peter. "You know where I was, Peter. Just pull up the tracking info. Easy as pie." Caffrey proceeded to help himself to one of the scones placed on the table.

"I know where you were Neal." Peter finally spoke, his voice as grave as his face. "What I want to know is, who were you with."

He stopped chewing, and set the scone back on the plate. Releasing a deep breath, he said, "I was with Esmerelda, ok? I was with her all day."

"Esmerelda Rossetti? The woman whose painting you're trying to recover?"

"Yes. And I met her by accident, I swear. I had gone out to get some air and calm down as Peter told me to, and she was there, sitting on a park bench, looking all…" He stopped, suddenly aware of the presence of the other two people.

"Go on. Looking all what?" Peter leaned forward, his forearms on the table edge. "Looking all beautiful, gorgeous, sexy? Is that what she looked like?"

"Peter, stop, ok? That's not what I was going to say. So, just stop."

"No, you stop, Neal. " He stood up, now visibly angry. "Do you have any inkling an idea of who this woman is? Damn it Neal, she's not your rebound, alright? She's not someone you can get over Kate with."

"I said, stop it!" Neal got up, the force of his rise knocking his chair onto the floor. "What is wrong with you? Kate. You're talking about Kate, Peter. I will never, ever get over Kate. Because she's not a high school prom date I can just kiss and forget." His voice broke, cracked with emotion. "She made me smile today…Esmerelda…Aisha. She made me smile, and I like her, but she's not Kate. No one is."

Elizabeth felt tears sting her eyes, and went forward, taking Neal in her arms. "It's alright." She whispered. "It's alright." She could feel a stain of moisture wetting her shoulder as he buried her face into her dress.

Peter looked, stricken at the raw, relentless pain of his friend. He had opened the wound, and clawed at it until he had burst. "I'm sorry Neal." He saw the younger man's shoulder heave in involuntary convulsions as he heard muffled sobs. "I'm sorry…"

When Neal extracted himself from her, his eyes were brimming pools of blue. Peter couldn't stand it, he couldn't stand to see his sorrow. "Neal, I…"

A steady vibration poked against his left thigh. He sighed exasperatedly and fished out his cell. "It's Jones..." He flicked the receive button. "Yea..?"

Neal and Elizabeth both saw Peter's face darken with fury. Neal felt an icy crawl trail down his spine, and his palpitations grew erratic. "Peter…" his voice was hoarse, "What is it?"

Peter's fist gripped the phone. "One my way.." He hung up. "Grab your coat, Neal. We're leaving."

"Peter, what's wrong? What is it?" His wife questioned anxiously, following her husband to the door. He turned around, looked at her, then Neal and answered, "It's Esmerelda Rossetti. She's in the hospital, in a coma. She was attacked."

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So, is it good? Please let me know. You guys are really great and your reviews really really help me. Love you all, and thanks so much for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

_OOC: Yes, I'll keep saying it. I love you guys for reviewing. Love Love Love Love Love! And, for everyone who said Esmerelda was becoming Mary Sue, I hope this chapter reverses that notion. Thanks for the critique guys._

She applied the last touch of rogue on her fruity lips while a maid set her hair in a loose bun, held by a jade comb. Another knelt at her feet, massaging her toes with oil made fragrant with jasmine and sage. Jewels lay astray on the floor before her, emeralds, rubies, pearls, diamonds, and a plethora of dazzling stones that she had tossed aside in disdain. "Amelia, Evelina, leave." She picked up a string of ocean pearls and placed to around her neck, then flung it across them room, where it struck a vase and came apart.

"Useless, isn't it? To break so easily…just like you." She looked towards the curtained window, before which stood a man with the face of an angel. His golden locks tumbled beneath his shoulders, and his shirt, with about three buttons undone, revealed the chest of a Renaissance sculpture. However, the man's angelic face was contorted; he was obviously in the grip of pain. And when one looked at him, one could understand the reason. His right arm was non-existent, replaced by stump of flesh which was wrapped in gauzy bandages. He was almost as beautiful as Venus of Milos, but his face held no peace, only agony, and humiliation, defeat.

"It seems darling Aisha hasn't lost her little tricks. To have torn off your arm in one swipe. I did underestimate her, it seems." She looked back at the mirror and began to apply gold dust on her milky skin, brushing it gently, giving her an unearthly faerie like glow. "However, you seem to have not only lost your efficiency, but also your pride." She picked up a finer brush and started touching her eyelids with the same dust, only finer. "You ran, like a pathetic dog with its tail between its legs."

The man remained silent. Nothing was to be said. He had failed his goddess. It did not matter that he has used the greatest of his skills; the woman of emeralds had fended him off as if an insect. She had delivered numerous blows to his body, and yet, there had been no satisfaction. He felt an involuntary shudder invade his nerves as he remembered the brutality with which she had pinned him against the wall, the madness, the animal insanity of her eyes as she had said, "Now you give me a souvenir of my victory, little dog" before ripping off his arm. He wasn't able to scream, her hand had remained on his lips like an iron clamp. He had been foolish to think he could defeat the woman who, without a drop of Rossetti blood in her veins, had taken command of the entire bloodline and had bent it to her desires and whims. He kept his eyes down.

"You really thought she was that simple, my dear." His goddess now examined the beauty of her reflection. "Allow me to demonstrate that she is not."

She picked up the remote that lay on the little table beside the mirror along with a few of the trinkets she had deemed worthy of placing on her bodice. With a flick, she switched on the plasma television placed into the mauve painted north wall. The black screen blared into life, showing news reports of Esteemed Heiress of Italian Aristocratic Family in Hospital. The reporter outlined the situation, which spoke of the barbaric attack on heiress and renowned art enthusiast and expert, Esmerelda Gabrielle Rossetti, who had lapsed into a coma and had to be admitted the emergency unit of one of Manhattan's finest hospitals. She switched news channels, each of them telecasting the same headlines.

"Not only has she sent you back with a missing limb to show me the futility of my efforts, she has staged a show that ensures that the sympathy of the entire world showers upon her. I wonder how she did it, perhaps she asked Concetta to injure her well enough…However." His goddess' face hardened. "Now Mother and Father both know of this…" She rose, and switched off the television. "You have failed me so thoroughly, Ciro de Alberto. You have failed to be my knight."

Even in the midst of pain that tore his nerve endings to shreds, he knelt. He was meant to be her instrument, and as an instrument, as a weapon, he meant nothing He saw the floor, but could hear her soft footsteps advancing on the carpet. She stopped before him; he could see the hem of her dress, rimmed with gold. He could feel her soft hand on his shoulder, the one which no longer supported an arm. "Ciro de Alberto, you are no longer worthy of my patronage. I dismiss you from my service." He felt a blade of pain shoot into his chest, impaling his heart as if a rabid vampire. She bent, until her lips touched his left ear. "Don't let your blood stain my lovely carpet. I won't have you to clean up after me."

As she walked away, her mind wandered to possibilities of a new slave. Someone beautiful, undoubtedly, someone with intelligence, and yet charming. Someone who would be of use to her. A lovely smile crossed her face, as she knew the perfect man. "Neal Caffrey…"

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_Ok, this is a chapter to reveal a bit of Esmerelda's true nature and the deep animality within her "family". I know it doesn't have the WhiteCo charries, but I really wanted the Mary Sue image to be erased, because that really wasn't my intention from the beginning. I guess I just wanted her to spend some time with Neal and all…Living a fantasy, guys. Sorry messed. Next chapters will go back to copious amount of Neal. And this story stays about Neal. Trust me and keep reading, please. I'll be involving him with the Rossettis , as you can see. Please don't stop reading. Oh, and I won't be able to post before 31__st__ because I have some more exams [pass subjects], but after that I'll be back for much more regular times. So, please bear with the delay. Thank you._


	5. Chapter 5

OOC: I know I know. Huge, enormous, colossal delay. But I have some real bullshit to deal with here. Plus college is on again. Crap in the bucket! Anyway, I'll be able to upload maybe a chapter a week, but it'll be more regular now. Please review guys. And, please don't have me for being tardy.

"Feeling better?" Neal asked the lithe figure that was as graceful as a vine even on a hospital bed.

"Much, thank you." She nodded to the ivory vase of roses that sat upon the little marble table by her bed. "And for those too…"

He smiled faintly before placing himself on the chair he had pulled close to the snow white bed. "Aisha, I—"

"You need to know who attacked me." She spoke with sharp simplicity, reminiscent of one who was running out of time. "That is why you came, bearing thickets of roses in ivory frame." She was as poetically abstract as ever.

Neal smiled again in spite of himself. She was just fine; she was a strong woman, just like Peter had said. They had argued all morning regarding the issue of questioning her. Neal had wanted her to have some time to recover but Peter insisted that they needed information on her attacker as soon as possible, if they were to make any substantial progress into solving this case. "If we're not careful, we could lose this case, Neal. The President's office has been pressurizing the Bureau for results. I do not need this to develop this into an international situation…and I do not need this to be bumped over to any other unit, not on my watch."

"So, do you remember anything?" He reached out to take her hand, then stopped.

"I remember him in a mask. A blackened face. And I remember a hard blow." She instinctively raised her hand to brush the wound. "I'm sorry Neal. I…I can't seem to recall any more."

Neal watched the play of light and shadow upon her porcelain face before he finally took her slender, small hand in his palm. "I'm sorry you had to go through this, Aisha. And I'm sorry I wasn't there." He spoke without a thought, words left him like blood from Caesar's wounds.

She felt what she hadn't felt in eons, her heartbeat pause, and then race with maddening, erratic speed. Almost without her knowing, her fingers tightened around his. It hurt, this sensation within her chest, a sensation she believed, had been frozen forever, on purpose. Aisha pursed her lips, trying to hide the whisper of tremble upon them. "I'm quite alright, Neal."

"I'm not convinced." Neal wrapped her hand in both of his. "You were afraid. You were afraid for your life. And there's no point trying to hide it. I can see it Aisha, in your eyes. I can see it."

She looked away, for she couldn't let him see her stinging eyes, couldn't let him realize that it wasn't death she feared. "I was afraid I'd never lay eyes upon you again. I was afraid I wouldn't have this moment." The foolish warmth that slid down her cheeks, smearing the light touch of makeup she had applied. "I didn't want to go, Neal."

She expected a loosening of the grip on her fingers, she expected the sound of the chair being pushed back, she expected the sound of the door closing, followed by a rush of cold air from the air conditioner which Neal blocked. The lily would fade, triumphed over by the rose. Stepsisters of Cinderella…lilies-withered, faded, lost…

A burst of warmth grasped her, engulfed her. Aisha felt his Egyptian cotton-threaded shirt soak up her sobs as his strong, subtly muscled arms pulled her into heat-lusted embrace. His fingers flitted through her raven ringlets of unmade hair, and she realized she was clinging to him, her weakened arms wrapped around his chest. His breath kissed her neck in fevered passion. She felt his hair against her cheek as his lips touched the white nape of her neck hesitatingly, nervously. Choked sobs tore out of her throat, her little body shook and trembled until he held her even closer, his lips nuzzling and whispering an assurance into her love-starved ear. "I won't let us be apart, Aisha. Not any more."

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"You're happy today." Elizabeth poured herself a mug of coffee, watching Neal flit in and out of the kitchen, carrying armloads of ingredients and blabbering endlessly.

He stopped in the middle of a tale regarding Jones' expression at a taste of the Bureau coffee. Had it been so obvious? Had he changed? So fast? So easily? Kate…did Kate mean nothing to him anymore? Neal shook his head. No, the pain didn't leave, at least not completely. But, he closed his eyes and tried to picture her face. Did it hurt less? Did the guilt not claw at him endlessly anymore? Was he truly…happy?"

"Neal?" Elizabeth reiterated her statement, her glace laced with curiosity. "Is it…" She looked towards the stairs to ensure her husband wasn't descending. " _her_?"

Neal furiously chopped parsley, making as much of a racket as possible with a knife and a cutting board. "What do you mean? Who?"

"Don't play with me, Neal Caffrey. You don't barge in and cook authentic Spanish fritters unless you have cause to celebrate. So, give me a reason as to why I should uncork some wine."

He scooped the chopped greens into a bowl before turning around and facing one of his closest friends, a woman he could turn to at times where there was no one to whom he could ask a certain question, not Mozzie, not Alex and certainly not Peter. "I…yes, its her, Elizabeth. I…I have this strange feeling, and I think I know what it is…and I'm so happy, but I don't know if I should be." He turned and started grounding spices in an old fashioned mortar. "I don't wanna think I'd forget Kate this easily…I don't wanna be that kind of a man."

She watched the figure bent over the mortar, bent over with burdens so simple, so common, yet so unbelievably difficult to lighten. "Listen to me, Neal." Elizabeth left her chair and walked to him. "It hasn't been easy, what you went through. And being happy, its something you deserve. Nobody's denying your love for Kate, but that kind of love needs to be reciprocated. You can't burn yourself in for forever, it doesn't exist like that. You have every right to be happy, Neal. You have every right to love."

Every right to love. " I don't even know if its love. Do I love her, Elizabeth?"

"I can't answer that, Neal. No one can, no one but this guy." She patted his arm. "No cook me some fritters, will you? I'm starving. And quit the onions." She smiled knowingly.

He realized a drop of moisture had betrayed him, and laughed. How long had it been since he had done something as impulsive, as stupid as letting a tear escape? Too long. Maybe a part of himself, a part of himself he believed had eluded him forever, was returning.

"So, is she doing okay? You know, after the…" Elizabeth had returned to her place, busying herself with impeccable Italian roast.

"Yea, actually. She's fine, a very tough woman, you know. She says…" He paused, running his tongue over lips which had suddenly become dry. "She says she's going to be here, in New York for a while..." He spoke haltingly, as if each word exerted him, forced tremendous effort on his part.

"You have to go to her, Neal. You have to ask her, better yet, tell her. You need to know what it is that you feel. And only she can help you figure that out."

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"Try to get some rest, Aisha. You're still not as recovered as I would have liked." He spoke into his cell while waiting at the counter of a little coffee shop two blocks down from the FBI building. "I am not worrying too much. You forget, I've seen you in the hospital….No, no. This is not because we…well, maybe that is part of the reason." His voice was laced with laughter. " Now, will you stop exerting yourself?" He smiled to himself as her silvery voice rang in his ears like a sweet rhapsody. "Alright, I'll come by in the evening. Bye…..I miss you too."

"Girlfriend?" The man at the counter asked, handing Neal two espressos. He had been a regular customer and as was true of Neal Caffrey, he had managed to strike up quite a friendship with the staff.

"Not really. We're just…uh…seeing each other." He scooped up the Styrofoam glasses, then quickly put them down, blowing at his palm. "Hot.."

"Lemme get you a bag. Hold on." The counter guy started rummaging.

"Thanks, Charlie."

Neal leaned over the glass case at the counter that displayed a feast of multicolored confectionaries and snacks. His eyes caught onto a slice of black forrest cake with extra dollops of cream, and he wondered what her sweet tooth preferred. She did like chocolate; he had seen a bagful of them that night when they had walked together. He wished he had taken a closer look at the contents, Neal sighed. The way to the heart being through the stomach was as true of women as of men, as his long experience told him.

"She likes lemon meringue pie, custard tarts, sata andagi, hakuto jelly and chocolate mousse. She likes anything dumped with chocolate, really." He turned to find the owner of the most melody-laced voice and found himself looking at what was possibly the most beautiful creature to have ever walked the earth.

"What…?" He started.

"Aisha's specific favorites are Noka chocolate, the Sultan's Golden Cake served at the Ciragan Palace, the Fortress Stilt Fisherman Indulgence and Strawberries Arnaud." The woman was an absolute vision in white. She wore a ivory dress that ended below her knees, splattered with a delicate floral pattern in light pink. Folds of heavy black hair adorned a face that seemed to glow in the grip of some incandescent tan. In fact, all of her exposed skin seemed touched by some unearthly glean, from her lips tp her eyelids to her fingertips. She wore a pendant with a single aquamarine gem, but Neal's trained eye could easily estimate that it was worth more than perhaps all that he had ever stolen in his criminal life.

"Well, did my suggestions satisfy?" She asked, noticeably unaware of all the dropping jaws around her.

"I'm sorry but…how do you know Aisha?" Neal remembered what Peter had told him, that Esmerelda Gabrielle Rossetti was probably being targeted by people of her own stature, who owned similar power and wealth. This woman certainly looked to be one of the indecently rich.

"Oh, dear sweet Aisha hasn't told you of me? She must still be angry. After all, she has always been of such a quick temper. Then, let me introduce myself. My name is Daciana Gabrielle Rossetti. One may consider me as one of Aisha's sisters." Her accent was heavy, and definitely not Italian.

"Sister?…she never mentioned a .."

"There is much she did not mention to you, Neal Caffrey, You have not known her very long, have you?" Her eyes, he now noticed, were pitch black. Not the dreamy darkness of Aisha's pupils, but a dark, abyss like black that could easily be imagined as the birthplace of cruelty. "You should try to know her before professing undying love. It is always intelligent to know who you love."

"Neal, here." Charlie pushed a paper bag with the coffee towards him.

"Oh..yea, thanks." Neal turned to the counter to pay and take pack, but when he turned back, the woman, Daciana had disappeared. He rushed out of the shop to check the streets, but there was no sign of her. "Damn…"

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"You're saying this woman knew your name as well as Miss Rossetti's?" Peter gulped a mouthful of the coffee with which Neal had rushed into his office.

"Yes. And I'm telling you, she not only knew my name but also…" His voice caught in his throat. He didn't plan on telling Peter about himself and Aisha, atleast not until the case was solved.

"Also what, Neal?" Burke intently watched his C.I. who had a familiar look in his eyes. A look Peter had noticed when Neal spoke of Kate.

"She knew…about Ai—Miss Rossetti. She said that she was one of her sisters."

"Sisters? Like blood sisters? Or cousins? By the way, this coffee's great."

"I don't know, Peter. I wasn't exactly chatting up now." He sighed and dropped into a chair. "I gotta say, she didn't look much like Esmerlda, though. She was more…playful. More…uh..."

"Maybe they're cousins. The Rossettis have a large number of familial branches, and they have this reputation for welcoming even illegitimate offspring into the brood. Pretty generous, huh?"

Neal didn't answer. " I should go ask her about this woman, Daciana. I mean, she should know a sister, even if she's possibly trying to kill Aisha."

"I'm sorry…Aisha?" Peter stopped paging through some papers. "And, who is this Aisha?" His look told Neal that he already knew.

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OOC: I know, not too great. But I wanted to keep this chapter about Neal and Aisha, and introduce Daciana. It'll get more exciting from now on. On, and I'm planning to add supernatural elements to the tale. Let me know what you think about this. Thanks everyone.


	6. Chapter 6

"I cannot believe you are doing this." Peter's voice was calm, quiet, icy. He meant what he said, he meant business. " I really had you begged for an intelligent guy."

Neal didn't answer. He was far too busy cursing his tongue which had suddenly come loose and mumbled out her name. He was also busy thinking of ways to convince Peter to not toss his ass back into prison. Getting involved with a victim of a crime was forbidden fruit when it came to law enforcement of any sort, the FBI not being an exclusion. Moreover, romantic liaisons with someone of the stature of a Rossetti was not only damaging to the Bureau (caused biased opinions), but also simply stupid.

"Well, are you going to talk?" Burke's voice now went up a few notches to an irritated snap.

"Honey, please don't yell at him. He…" Elizabeth tried to lull the coming storm but instead, felt its fury redirected upon her.

"You knew about this? You knew what he was doing? How could you not tell me, Elle?" He was actually yelling now.

"This. Peter Burke! This is exactly why I couldn't tell you. Because you'd fly into a fury and not bother to listen to what anyone else might have to day." Elizabeth voice suddenly matched her husband's.

Both Peter and Neal were startled to hear a high tone of voice from the lips of the always-amiable woman they both loved, in different ways. Peter opened his mouth, then shut it again. He was too flabbergasted to think, let alone talk.

"Neal has reasons for doing what he did, Peter. I'm asking you to give him time to talk, and that means having the patience to listen and not rage at him. Do you get that, at all?"

Burke nodded tightly and looked at his partner, who sat at the dining table with head bent. Peter felt a chill of remorse stab his heart, he had been a bit too harsh. "You going to tell me what's going on?" He asked, lowering himself onto a vacant chair.

He watched Neal sigh deeply, defeatedly. " I guess it just happened, Peter….I—"

"Wait, what happened? Have you two…you know..?" Peter hastened to clarify.

"What….NO! We just…we went out a couple of times. You know, exhibitions and a few concertos…" Neal was aware that his face was growing increasingly hot and he started talking, fast.

"Its nothing serious between us. We just like each other's company, and we have a lot in common, Peter. We both like the same sort of music, and she even likes the Rat Pack, which frankly, I didn't expect. I mean, she doesn't look it, does she? But, did I tell you that she actually walks around on the streets at night? She says she likes to explore and…"

Both the Burkes watched him blabber, and both of them knew what Neal was actually trying to say. "You're in love with her." Peter stated flatly, sighing exasperatedly.

The younger man shut up. He bit his lower lip and lowered his head, causing clumps of black-brown hair to fall over his eyes. "I…I don't know. I mean, I don't think I know who she is."

"Yea, and you're in love with her. Look, Neal, you're unsure and confused about a lot of things, but love isn't one of them. And I know you well enough to know when you have that look in your eyes." Peter shook his head. "Elle, could I have some coffee? I have a long night ahead, gotta clean up some messes."

Elizabeth nodded and went into the kitchen, but not before patting Neal assuringly on his arm, as she was prone to do.

"So, what are you gonna do about it? Did you tell her?" The FBI man scratched the ears of Satchmo, who had proceeded to lay his head upon Daddy's legs.

"No. I need more time to think, to figure out things. Peter…" He looked up again. "What do you mean, "that look in my eyes?""

"The look you had whenever you talked about Kate. That weird, dreamy, I-wonder-where-she-is-right-now look. Its very prominent."

"Wha-" Caffrey stopped. How could one refute an argument as that? And Peter was right about one thing, he did know Neal better than anyone else.

"Stop sitting there, Caffrey. We have a painting to retrieve here."

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"This is definitely something." Neal tried, as hard as possible not to gawk at the incomparably exquisite décor that glowed upon the walls of the new Rossetti residence on the outskirts of Manhattan. "You're tempting me, you know. The criminal within me stirs."

The room was sprayed with Rembrandts, Monets, even a Goya. "Dear God, I thought they were all confined to the Prada." He turned to Aisha who reclined on an antique mahogany divan close to the gigantic arched window that overlooked spacious gardens. "How, I heaven's name did you acquire this place? I didn't even know this kind of space existed anywhere close to New York."

"Concetta is skilled in ever so many ways." Her eyes twinkled in mischief. "Some of her exploits could make you shiver."

"Is that so? Well…I'd like to hear some." He sat beside her and pulled the blanket which covered her feet, upto her waist. "But, first thing's first, how are you feeling?"

"Perfectly well. Only you and Concetta both insist on treating me like a fragile flower, Neal. Truly, I never thought you two would have so much in common. She's been spoiling me since I met her, as do you."

Neal watched her, a strange warmth engulfing him. Inspite of what she said, she did look fragile. She wore a steel colored morning dress [she probably hadn't changed into anything formal because of her weakness], a subdued number with shades of gray touching the hem and leaving her wrists bare. It matched well with her tired eyes. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer so that her small frame was easily pulled into his chest. He remembered that he would have to ask her about Daciana, but that thought was the farthest from his mind. Her eyes intoxicated him, her fingers entangled themselves in his. He felt himself lean closer, until he could see the dark rush of her eyelashes. Their lips brushed, feather-touch, then deeper. Her hand caressed his arm, then traced across his cheek and ventured into his hair. Neal pushed her gently back onto the divan, deepening the kiss. His hand left hers and traveled downwards, his lips left hers and traveled to her throat; he heard her whimper softly and wondered wildly if she was possibly a virgin. He planted butterfly kisses on her skin, leading to the nape of her neck, then upwards to her earlobe, which he nipped gently. "Aisha, I—"

His cell phone buzzed indignantly, fracturing the moment like merciless rain on a sunny day. Neal contemplated tossing the buzzing devil out the window, but changed his mind when he saw the caller ID. Peter. "S'cuse me.." He mumbled, sitting up. "What, Peter?"

Aisha, who was reasonably flustered watched as her blue eyed consort's eyes brighten. "That's great. I'll let her know." He cast her a smiling glance. "Should she…?" He sighed. "Yes Peter, I am with her. Alright…alright. Yea, see you. Bye."

"They found the painting. They found the Amore di inganno." Neal watched joy splash across her face. She wrapped her arms around his neck held him as tightly as her weakened state would allow. "Whoa…someone's awfully happy." He held her back. "I'm glad, Aisha."

"Thank you, Neal. Thank you." She whispered.

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"Case closed. Though strangely." Peter, Diana, Jones and Neal raised a toast of champagne, in paper cups, which had become quite a regular occurrence in the office.

"This still feels so wrong." Neal waved his cup. "Paper."

"Stop complaining, Caffrey. You've been drinkin' Cristal out of crystal goblets while this is all we got." Jones poured himself more of the liquor.

"What?...Peter! You told them?"

"Hey, don't eat me. They guessed. I just gave them a yea when they asked me. Damn, this is good." Burke swallowed another draught of champagne.

"Yeah Neal, we're not stupid, y'know." Diana winked. "We've all decided that we hate you now. But, all that aside, how's it going?"

"Yea, I'm not telling you guys anything. And, gimme that bottle, Jones. I need alcohol right now, thanks to him." He jerked his head towards Peter, who waved off the accusation. "I keep telling you, they figured it out."

"Sure. Anyway, I'm gonna take off, guys. Getting late. Thanks." He raised his cup.

"Going for a little late night Italian, are ya?" Jones was starting to slur.

"No. And, you get home. See you."

"Bye, Neal.

"Yeah, Bye, Caffrey."

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"Okay, let me get this straight." Mozzie fiddled with a glass of wine at Neal's table. "You are in a relationship with the heir to one of the most prolific and extravagantly wealthy bloodlines in the world, and she's staying back in New York because of you? And the Suit knows about this?"

"Firstly, stop making it sound like I'm not reason enough for her to stay, even if it might possibly be true. And yes, Peter knows, and he's okay with it. And, don't you think it's a little late for you to be up. Moz?"

"I happen to be a denizen of the dark hours, a creature thriving in the…" He was interrupted by a yawn that cracked his jaws. " night."

"Yea, as I can see. Look, no discussion now, ok? Just crash on the couch. You want some more wine to help you sleep?"

"No, I'll be heading out. Your couch had been inflicting me with an ailment of the spinal cord. Plus, I have some crepes to sample."

"At night? Seriously?"

Mozzie was already at the door. "Good night, ye of little faith." He left dramatically, closing the door with a creak.

Neal laughed mentally, reminded of all his friend's quirks. He finished his wine, put the glass away, undid his shirt and lay down on the purple covers. A soft sigh found its way out of his chest as his mind reverted to her. They have come close today, real close. He wondered if they would have made love. He wondered what he was about to say to her? "Would I have told her…?" He turned on his side, hugging the pillow. It was never this confusing with his other women, not even…They were of the same world. Neal rubbed his face on the cotton pillowcover. He didn't want to think of it now, but that was the thing about the human mind. It tended to think exactly that which it abhorred. "Kate.."

His cell vibrated on the little bedside stool. It was her. He smiled, and was conscious that every inch of the guilt that racked him only a instant ago seemed to recede. "Good night, me Corazon." The message read. "Me Corazon…my heart."

A subdued knock tapped on his comforting thoughts. Mozzie. Neal swept aside the covers, wondering if he was ever going to find a semblance of sleep tonight. He didn't bother to pull on the shirt and yanked open the door. "Okay Mozzie, what…?"

He froze. A vicious fist slammed into his heart. He felt his breath literally stop, air refused to go past his throat. Every hair on his body stood to feverish attention, and a cold sweat drenched him. In that moment, he felt his world crashing upon him, and he felt it rising to pallid stars once again. In that moment, Neal Caffrey didn't know what to feel.

"Kate..?"

Black hair, muted brown eyes, slim, elegant, confident frame, bleated charcoal jacket.

"Hello, Neal."

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Guys, I really need reviews. I need to know the pros and cons of my work. Please, Please, Please help me. Pleaseeeeee! Oh, and the supernatural aspect of the story begins now. Thanks for the previous reviews.


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